


muffled, from the other side of the door.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [23]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Emetophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 22:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: And yet he still nurtured darkness in him like a tender seed.





	muffled, from the other side of the door.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles. 
> 
> prepare for emotional whiplash. sorry, this one moves a little fast.
> 
> in addition to my writing blog, you can follow my twitter (http://www.twitter.com/moogleizer) for story comments, updates, questions, and more. i talk a lot about my thought processes while writing there, too. be forewarned that it doubles as my nsfw twitter. it is a locked account, but i'll approve most follow requests if i can tell you're not a bot. 
> 
> thanks for reading!

Futaba told him everything over a smoothie from Big Bang Burger. How they'd bugged his phone. How they knew about his impending betrayal at Sae Niijima's Palace, how they'd prepared for it. How they fully expected him to try to kill Joker. They were ready, she said, and Akechi blindsided them.

“I want to know why you did it,” Futaba said, stirring her smoothie with a thick straw. “The truth, please. You don't actually have...feelings...for Akira. Do you?”

Akechi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Crossed, uncrossed, then recrossed his legs. Of all the people to put him on the spot, he never expected it would be Futaba Sakura. Futaba, the shy little thing who could almost never get a word out in Akechi's presence unless she was hiding behind Akira's arm. Futaba, whose most substantial interaction with Akechi was when she took his phone (which must have been when she bugged it, he realized in retrospect). And now here she was, so compelled by her love for Akira and her concern over his association with Akechi that she found it necessary to confront him.

“'Feelings' is a little...” Akechi searched for the right word. “Strong,” he decided. “We are associates, he and I.”

“Associates who snog?”

Well. That was unexpected. Akechi put a fist to his mouth and did his best to stifle the quiet laughter spilling out of him. He laughed more out of surprise than anything else, though his heart did do a little kick-step, too. Oh, hush, he told it, albeit in the confines of his head.

“I admit what Kurusu did that one time at Leblanc was a little...drastic. It took me quite by surprise too. I really do think he was just trying his best to include me in the group dynamic. You know how he is.”

“Uh-huh,” said Futaba, very obviously unconvinced. “Called you his boyfriend and everything.”

“I assure you I'm nothing of the sort.”

“He sure talks about you like you are.”

“I...I don't have much input on that...”

Futaba stared at him. Took a long, loud sip of her milkshake. She took out her phone, and her fingers flew across the screen for a solid three minutes before she put it away again to refocus her attention on Akechi.

“I just wanna know what you're up to,” Futaba said, lacing her fingers together on the table in front of her. “We all do.”

“I understand that,” said Akechi, “especially given what I've done. I can't blame any of you for your suspicions. But I promise I seek no harm to Kurusu. In fact, I'm doing all I can to protect him.”

“You say that,” Futaba said quietly, the light flashing off her glasses as she gazed down at her folded hands. “But two days ago he came back to Leblanc looking so depressed, I thought Morgana had gotten hit by a car. I know he went to your place.”

That was a morbid and drastic assumption to make about Morgana, but the implication was clear. Akira had been very, very upset after returning from Akechi's the other day.

“I...I'm sorry about that. Truly, I don't know what to say.”

“Who is Shido?”

Akechi bristled. “...What?”

“Shido. You spoke to someone called 'Shido.' Who is he?”

Akechi stiffened. Folded his arms across his chest. A million things went through his mind at once, none of them good. His old rage flared up. Who did this little girl think she was, questioning him like this? What business was it of hers? So she'd bugged his phone; so she thought they'd had him beat. Even with that little hiccup in his plan, he could have easily destroyed them. Crushed them all like the ants they were. Killing Akira Kurusu would have been easy, the easiest thing in the world, and all the sweeter if his 'friends' were there to watch. He could still do it, he could still—

He put a hand to his suddenly pounding head.

“Akechi?”

When he peered through his fingers, he saw Futaba watching him with a tilted head and a question in her big, innocent eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling. “Just a little headache. It's nothing.”

She nodded, asked, “And Shido?”

“I'm afraid I can't tell you about that.”

“...So you still insist on hiding things from us. You know, if you want us to trust you—”

“Please,” Akechi said, voice quiet, hoarse, begging. “For Kurusu's sake, please don't ask me about that.”

Futaba's eyes widened. She floundered a little, becoming uncertain. Her arms crossed, and she sat up a little straighter like she was trying to model an adult. She looked so small and helpless. Akechi wondered what it would be like to snap her in half.

“You...you can't just ask us to take your word for it,” she stammered out. “If this 'Shido' is after Akira like we think he is—”

“I'm taking care of it,” Akechi interrupted, gently. “I promise. He won't be a threat for much longer.”

He hoped beyond hope that that would be enough for her, even though he knew without a doubt that it wouldn't be. How could they possibly trust him, after what they'd heard? They'd pretty much heard him confess with his own mouth that he'd kill Akira Kurusu. Which meant, of course, that Akira heard it, too. Even now, all these intrusive thoughts were running through his mind. And yet..and yet...

His head spun, struck by stabbing pain. Faint ringing sounded in his ears.

“I...I really should be going...” he said, setting his jaw against the sudden overwhelming ache. “There're things I need to...need to do...”

He couldn't understand the panicked look that Futaba gave him. Couldn't understand why, when he stood up, the room started spinning. Couldn't understand why the floor suddenly became the ceiling and the ceiling became the floor.

“Akechi!”

“Wh...?”

Ah. He was lying down, cheek pressed against the cool ground. It felt nice, at least. Soothed, somewhat, the pounding headache threatening to make him want to jump in front of a bus.

Futaba hovered over him, hands moving frantically over his body as if she was afraid to touch him. As if touching him would break him, somehow. The ringing in his ears grew louder, so loud he could barely feel the pain anymore. And then darkness started creeping in. A light crowd gathered around them. Futaba screamed something at someone, but Akechi couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything, anymore.

He blinked, slowly, and the next thing he knew, he was in a little room with Tae Takemi staring down at him. She sighed as soon as he opened his eyes.

“I thought I told you I didn't want to see you in here again unless it was to work for me,” she said, cross.

Akechi's brow furrowed. His head still hurt like someone was drilling a hole into the back of his skull with a dull, rusty blade.

“Sit up,” said Dr. Takemi, and Akechi did his best to comply. As soon as he moved, the room started spinning again. “Take these.”

She handed him three pills, small, purple and square. He took them with a glass of water that Dr. Takemi also handed him.

In a matter of minutes, the scorching in his head calmed to a dull, persistent throbbing.

“Bickerstaff syndrome,” Dr. Takemi remarked, gazing at Akechi like he was an anomalous rodent. “Not typically seen in young men. Or men in general, really. Just what have you been doing to yourself?”

Overthinking things, Akechi thought to himself. Stupid, useless, unimportant things.

Instead of answering, he laughed lightly and rubbed the back of his neck.

Dr. Takemi shook her head. Approached him and shined a penlight into each of his eyes. He winced at the bright light striking his pupils.

“No lasting damage, it seems,” she remarked offhandedly, almost, Akechi thought, as though she was a little disappointed there wasn't something more interesting to deal with.

He shivered in apprehension. A formidable woman indeed.

“I'll write you a prescription for my painkillers,” she said, scribbling onto a notepad, “just in case the headaches come back. If the painkillers stop working, come straight back here. I'll give you something stronger.”

She handed him the prescription, along with a small bottle that presumably contained the painkillers in question. He thanked her profusely before he left.

When he finally made it back home, head still throbbing just a bit, he was only half-surprised to see Akira Kurusu sitting outside his door. As soon as he approached, Akira stood up. Shoved his hands in his pockets. Looked over Akechi with a small frown.

“Futaba told me what happened,” Akira explained. “Dr. Takemi wouldn't let me into the exam room. Figured you'd skip out on going to Leblanc, so I came here...”

“...Instead of just waiting outside of the exam room...?”

Akira's eyes widened the slightest bit. His shoulders rose up towards his ears. A lovely shade of dusk red dusted his cheeks. Akechi laughed, a light, warm sound.

“Well, let's not stand out here in the cold,” he said, stepping past Akira and opening his apartment door. “Please, come inside.”

Akira followed him in quietly, waited quietly for Akechi to lock the door, stood quietly by as Akechi removed his jacket and placed his keys on the counter top. Akechi offered Akira a seat, which he took, quietly. All the pointed silence started to make Akechi a little antsy.

“Something to drink?” he asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

Akira shook his head, though, so Akechi poured himself a glass of water and chugged half of it down. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until the water touched his lips. It helped ease the remnants of his headache, too, so that was a plus.

Meanwhile, Akira hadn't even removed his jacket yet. It made Akechi suspect that he didn't plan to stay very long. Probably just came to check up on Akechi, really. It was just like Akira to go out of his way to do something like that.

“I'm fine now,” Akechi promised, doing his best to offer a genuine smile. “It was just a bad headache. Dr. Takemi gave me some pills, and I'm right as rain. Please, don't feel obligated to stick around.”

Akira raised an eyebrow out him, but otherwise said nothing. Akechi imagined that pale face covered in blood, those curls sticking red to his forehead while more blood bubbled out of his mouth, running between his teeth—

At once Akechi's head felt like it was splitting open. He staggered against the counter, scrambled for the pills Dr. Takemi gave to him. He took three of them, and then another three. It made him lightheaded, but it was much, much better than the pain. When he came to himself again, he noticed Akira gripping him tight by the elbow, a panicked look in his eyes.

“It's fine,” Akechi choked out, laughing weakly. “Migraines. So inconvenient, aren't they?”

“Seems like more than a migraine,” Akira muttered, and Akechi was so pleased to finally hear his voice that he smiled his widest smile of the day.

“I thought I remembered you being able to talk,” Akechi teased, and Akira frowned again.

It was only a moment, though, before that frown curled up into a tiny smile. Akira leaned forward, paused, looked up from beneath his lashes. Asking, Akechi knew, for permission. Akechi took Akira's chin in his hand and moved in for the kiss he knew Akira wanted. Akira's hands moved up to rest on Akechi's waist, and then to slide up along his back. Akechi's hands found their way into that curly mess of hair he enjoyed tugging on so much. He tugged on it now, and Akira moaned into his mouth. Smiled against Akechi's lips.

“Missed you,” Akira whispered, and the feel of his breath against his skin made Akechi shiver.

“It's only been two days,” Akechi pointed out, nuzzling at Akira's nose, brushing his lips against Akira's lips.

“Two days too long,” said Akira, pulling Akechi closer, kissing him deeper.

Akechi's hands quickly undid Akira's jacket, discarded it on the floor. He really only did it to get that bulky thing out of the way, so he could better feel Akira's body pressed against him, but Akira, of course, had other ideas. He was, Akechi thought (as Akira pulled at the hem of his shirt, lifted it over his head), truly insatiable.

Somehow, between the mashing of mouths and the shedding of clothing, they stumbled their way over to the futon. It was as if the miscommunication two days ago had never happened; as if Akechi had never lied, as if Akira had never walked out. As if Akechi hadn't, only minutes ago, been thinking of killing Akira Kurusu with his own two hands.

They fell into each other naturally, easily. Too easily, Akechi thought in a haze. They shouldn't be so used to each other's bodies. As it was, when Akira slipped his hand between Akechi's legs, he knew exactly how to touch him to get him to arch his back and moan. Akechi knew exactly how to kiss Akira to make him hungry for more, to make him growl, a low and feral sound that raised the hair on the back of Akechi's neck.

Akira pulled Akechi into his lap, slid into him slowly from below. Akechi clung to Akira's shoulders, biting back a groan. It was useless. Akira pressed his thumb between Akechi's lips, and the noises that spilled out of him were lewd and unrestrained. Akira grinned, thrust slowly, slowly, and Akechi shook in his arms. Akira's soft sighs, the way he rested his face in the crook of Akechi's neck, made Akechi's stomach tighten. He moved his hips to match Akira's pace, and Akira made a strangled noise against Akechi's shoulder.

“Goro,” Akira gasped, rocking his hips harder, faster.

“A...Aki...”

Akechi bit down on his tongue to keep _that name_ from spilling out. Even now, it made him uncomfortable. Even now, he couldn't bring himself to get as close as that. Instead, he let out a shuddering gasp and kneaded his fingers into Akira's shoulders, letting himself get carried away by the steady motion of it all.

Against his throat, Akira breathed, rough and hitched, “Want...you...”

Akechi bent his head down, let Akira catch his lips in a hard, biting kiss. Akira moaned into his mouth, and Akechi moaned louder. He was close, now, and he could feel in the way Akira trembled that he was close, too.

Suddenly, Akira pushed Akechi over. Hovered over him and lifted his legs over his shoulders, crawling in between them. He entered Akechi again and moved inside of him, hard and slow. For once, Akechi didn't mind that it wasn't rough and dirty. He didn't mind Akira's gentleness, the way he reached around for Akechi's hand and held it tight while he rocked back and forth, back and forth. Heat bloomed in Akechi's tightening core. His fingers, interlaced with Akira's squeezed tight.

Two more thrusts—three, four, five, each one deeper and slower than the last. They came, shuddering, Akechi with a high gasp, Akira with a loan moan. Akira continued to rock his hips for awhile, riding out his climax, before collapsing on top of Akechi's body.

Akechi wrapped arms around Akira, ran light fingers through his damp hair. They were sweaty and sticky and gross, but Akechi had never felt more content. For once, he didn't feel like he had to prove something to himself by doing this, like he had to manipulate the boy resting on top of him. For once, he was simply glad it was Akira there with him, and no one else.

He swallowed at that. His thoughts were roaming into the realm of the dangerous. He couldn't afford to care about Akira, as such. Especially not now, with Shido's demise looming so close. But Akira's body was so warm and so soft and so comfortingly heavy, Akechi didn't feel like moving away just yet. Didn't feel like worrying more than he already was just yet.

He trailed his fingers up and down along Akira's back and smiled when Akira shivered. Akira lifted his head, caught Akechi's lips in a soft, gentle kiss. Full and slow. And Akira's right hand reached up to cup Akechi's face.

A hand broken, every single finger broken, a body lying in a pool of blood, writhing—

Akechi pushed Akira off of him, his hand flying to cover his mouth. Vomit rose up in his throat. He rushed for the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Akira was there in an instant, pounding on the door even as Akechi emptied his stomach into the toilet bowl.

“Goro!” Akira cried. “Goro, let me in!”

Akechi shook his head and gagged, emptying even more of himself into the toilet. His head was pounding again, the bathroom spinning, but his pills were outside, and he was inside, and Akira was outside too, and he wanted to _kill him—_

He puked a third time, his stomach roiling.

He shouldn't have done what he did, he realized that now. He'd gotten too comfortable with Akira, too used to his presence. Akechi had to put greater distance between them immediately, no matter how much the thought of it twisted and twisted and twisted at his heart.

“Go,” Akechi managed to croak once his stomach had settled into simple spasms. “Go home, Kurusu.”

“I'm not leaving,” Akira asserted, his voice muffled from the other side of the door. “I'm not going anywhere until you come out.”

“I can't. I'm...”

Akechi heaved again, but nothing came out. He grit his teeth against the return of a blaring migraine.

“I'll wait,” Akira said, and then again, “I'll wait.”

Wiping tears from his eyes—tears forced out by his gagging—Akechi crawled over to the bathroom door and unlocked it. Collapsed against the sink cabinet behind him. Akira burst in, slamming the door against Akechi's legs, but Akechi hardly cared. He could hardly see straight.

“Goro,” Akira called out softly, pushing hair back from Akechi's face. “I'm here,” he soothed. “I'm here.”

He slipped an arm around Akechi's shoulders and held him close. Held him as he rocked in shallow, back-and-forth movements, his head clutched between his hands.

He would kill Shido. He would kill Akira. He would tear them down with his bare hands if he had to, crush them into dust in his palms and laugh at their scattered bones...

Laughter bubbled out of him, choked and broken. Akira stiffened beside him, but instead of pulling away like Akechi thought he would, Akira only held him tighter. So tight, Akechi almost thought it would be enough to hold him together.

It was a foolish, fleeting thought.

He heard it again. That far away god, nearer now, laughing. Saw Akira's dark, dead, empty eyes. White flashed before him, then red, then black. His body went heavy against Akira's body, and the last thing he heard was Akira crying out his name.

 


End file.
